


the curious case of the cat in the daytime

by GrimRevolution



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Magic, boy turns himself into a cat cause he's lonely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 00:09:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15960509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimRevolution/pseuds/GrimRevolution
Summary: Stephen Strange was lonely. So he turned himself into a cat.Everyone likes cats, right?





	the curious case of the cat in the daytime

**Author's Note:**

> look i wrote this over the course of a day on tumblr, don't take it too seriously it's just some fun.

It wasn’t long after Thanos that Stephen Strange came to the Sanctum, wide eyed and in awe of universes and dimensions and beings he wished he could tell stories about, only to find no one there. Manhattan was quiet outside the windows and it was almost as if the townhouse existed in a realm between dream and wakefulness. Three floors of quiet, humming relics, settled in their cases and stands for the night and it was peaceful after a long day of diplomacy and fighting.

But it was also so very _lonely_.

 (And Wong had his own life, his own duties, it would be unfair to drag him away from all that just for a night of talking).

Stephen stood in his library, burning energy twitching beneath his skin. He wasn’t sad—not in the way that welled up in bones or pattered on his heart—but there was an absence in his chest, like a tree that’s roots had come free, leaving nothing but a hole in the earth.

Running his hands over his face, Stephen sighed and looked over at his desk to the single, black phone that sat there. He had written sigils on the plastic cover with nail polish to disrupt the tracking technology, and placed it off to the side but always within notice.

An open invitation, Stark had said, to call upon them if he needed them, to join their isle of misfit toys.

(And even among them Stephen’s magic was strong enough and strange enough to make even those used to abilities such as his give him a wide berth.)

Stephen picked up the phone, swiped his thumb across the screen, and stared at the giant A.

oOo

At approximately 10:15pm, a cat slipped through a portal and into the Avenger’s kitchen. He was a slim, gangly thing—more artist sketched lines than actual being—with sleek black fur and a silver collar sitting low around his neck. Silver tags clinked gently together when he landed but grew silent while soft paws padded through the dark. Shadows dipped around him, disguising his shifting smoke form before moonlight revealed the bluebottle shine to his coat.

Stephen, in his feline form, slunk through the hallways, peeking around corners. He stumbled on one of the janitors at an intersection between the gym rooms and the lab, hesitated, and then tried to use the rolling Latin music to hide his footsteps.

“ _Dios mío_!”

Stephen jumped almost a full foot off the ground with a startled, vibrating hiss. His back arched, tail sticking up like a flag pole, and the bones in his neck managed to stay screwed on as he turned his wide, dilated eyes upward. The woman he had been trying to sneak by had a hand over her heaving chest.

They stared at each other for a solid couple of seconds.

“ _Gato_!” She clucked her tongue like she was scolding a small child. “ _Me asustaste_!”

The long tail flicked apologetically as she kneeled low enough that the white cord to her headphones almost brushed against the flooring. There was a soft groan accompanied by the faint popping of bones, but a wrinkled, leathered hand was offered, smelling of citrus, brown sugar, cinnamon, and fresh caramel that seemed to be embodied into her pores.

Stephen pressed his forehead into her fingers and let them scratch between his ears, under his chin, and rub his cheeks. Green eyes drooped to half-moons and he leaned into each stroke along his back. Each touch earned a gentle _muurp_ sound as warmth built up just underneath his skin, swelling against his ribs.

With one last scritch behind his ears, she was standing and Stephen curled the tip of his tail.

“ _Adiós, guapo_ ,” she said with a wink and whistled, continuing down the hallway.

He meowed at her back and padded in the opposite direction.

oOo

The gym doors hissed open, bathing Stephen and the hallway in sudden, blue-white light and there was Natasha. Red hair was wrapped up in a towel and sitting on the crown of her head while water dripped down her neck and dotted her shoulders around the thin, white tank top and red sports bra. She blinked down at him. He stared up at her.

“Hello,” she said slowly. “I didn’t know this place had a cat.”

Stephen chest rumbled in a half purr half growl.

Holding the towel still, Natasha squatted and ran one hand from the black, pointed ears all the way to the tip of his tail. He arched into her hand with a chirrup. She patted his back, stood, and headed towards the rooms.

oOo

At midnight, after two hours of exploring every cranny of the compound, Stephen jumped up onto the back of one of the couches in the living room. He curled into the leather, legs folded beneath his body, and hid his nose under his tail.

oOo

Light peeled back the layers of darkness from the Avenger’s compound, spilling like wildfire honey across the living room floor. One sliver of it played across black fur, warming Stephen Strange’s cat-body even as he dozed on slowly heating leather. Behind him, through one of the wider doorways, clinking plates were pulled from the cabinets.

A hand brushed over fur and green eyes blinked open. Stephen lifted his head with a _murrp_ and purred under the warm hand smoothing over his forehead and ears. His body uncurled slowly, tail flicking as it straightened behind him.

“Since when did this place have a cat?” Rhodey leaned against the back of the couch, his fingers scratching under Stephen’s chin.

A yawn revealed small, white canines.

“It doesn’t,” Tony said from the kitchen, placing a pan on the stove

Green eyes half closed in pleasure and Stephen lifted his head higher. Silver tags clinked on the collar as fingers pulled them out. There was one with a prowling cat carved into the surface with one, continuous line. The other said ‘ _Abra_ ’ in block letters and _‘177a Bleecker Street_ ’.

“Looks like he belongs to Strange.” The tags were released and two hands ran down the lean, feline body. “What, did the guy just dump his cat here while we weren’t looking?”

Tony grunted. “Dunno,” he said, “I mean, maybe he just left a portal open for too long and the cat just jumped through.” Plastic rattled against the counter top and there was Tony, on the tips of his toes as he reached across the sink for a spatula. “I’ll call him later.”

Stephen raised his backside into the nails scratching into his fur and pressed his cheek against Rhodey’s arm. His chest rumbled like a small car engine.

There was a smell of charcoal from the kitchen, faint cursing and then; “how do you feel about oatmeal?”

“Don’t make oatmeal for breakfast,” Rhodey turned away from the cat and headed towards Tony. “We’ll just pick up something along the way.”

Lowing himself back on the couch, Stephen watched as they tossed the pans into the washer, dumped the burnt pancakes into the garbage, and headed towards the door. He kneaded his paws into leather, opened and closed his claws, then jumped down to the seat of the couch where the sun had sat longer. Finding the warmest spot of all, Stephen rested his chin on his forelegs and watched with half opened eyes as the sun rose across the Avenger’s front lawn.

When the sky was completely blue, the cushions dipped and he lifted his head.

“Oh,” Bucky said, blinking down at him, metal arm missing and blinking once before his face softened. “Good morning.”

‘Good morning,’ said Stephen, but it came out as a _mrrrow._

oOo

He stalked the next person who passed the couch into the kitchen when his stomach refused to be ignored and, when not noticed, let out a howling meow.

Jerking away from the fridge and jumping an impressive full three feet away, Clint stared down at Stephen with a hand pressed to his chest. “Jesus _Christ_ ,” he said, “where the fuck did you come from?”

The black tail flicked and Stephen tried another, but softer, meow.

Clint looked around the kitchen with a desperate almost trapped look to his face. He was in an age worn white t-shirt that had faded to grey with blue and red Captain America boxers. Cheeks unshaven, eyes still flinching away from the light, he looked like he had gotten hit by a semi-truck called ‘hangover’ and beaten up by their friend ‘rising up with the sun is a painful, dangerous habit’.

Stephen realized he sat between the man and the fridge. He sat on his haunches and waited.

“Look,” Clint said, “I don’t know who normally feeds you—”

A sharper, louder meow.

Stephen had no plans of heading back to the Sanctum that morning. Which had no food because being a sorcerer or an Avenger brought in no income what so ever.

Clint looked between Stephen and the fridge. “If I promise to feed you,” his shoulders dropped, “will you let me pass?”

The tail flicked. With deliberate slowness, Stephen backed out of the way, his green eyes focused on Clint Barton as he inched towards the fridge and pantry.

One can of tuna later and Stephen rubbed himself against Clint’s calf before leaving the man to his breakfast.

oOo

“T’Challa!”

Stephen released a involuntarily chirrup as hands circled his stomach, lifting him into the air. His long body was turned around and he came nose to nose with an open mouthed Shuri. Eyes shining with mischief, she held him carefully beneath the armpit, fingers wrapped around his small, skinny ribcage.

“Brother! What happened to you? Why are you so small?”

Over her shoulder, Stephen could see T’Challa. The Black Panther seemed like he was torn between looking pained or amused and settled between a mix of both. Behind him, Okoye had no such trouble and grinned so broadly her teeth were the moon on a night sky.

Shuri pressed her nose to Stephen’s. “Don’t you worry, My King,” she said solemnly. “We will get this fixed.”

Curling his tail, Stephen meowed.

T’Challa sighed. “Shuri,” he said as a couple agents walked by, failing to hide their smiles.

She gasped and leaned back, eyes comically wide. “I can hear your voice, brother! It must be magic!”

“ _Shuri_ ,” T’Challa was unable to keep his own amusement out of his voice and Stephen purred. “Let the poor creature go.”

Light streamed through the windows, highlighting the pout on Shuri’s features and the sparkle of trickster fun she had in her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said, looking back at the cat in her hands before tilting her head to the side.

Stephen copied the motion.

Her responding smile was bright. “I think I like him better than you, brother,” Shuri said. “He’s definitely quieter.”

T’Challa sighed and rubbed his hand over his chin. The King of Wakanda looked back at Okoye, rolled his eyes at her smile, and turned back to his sister.

Stephen was utterly charmed; letting out louder and louder purrs as the Princess tilted her head back and forth. He flexed his paws against her bare arms, keeping his claws carefully sheathed so they wouldn’t scratch her skin.

Shuri stuck out her tongue.

Stephen did the same.

The responding gasp was soft and full of gentle awe. Shuri’s gentle hands manoeuvred the long, furry body until Stephen was cradled like a child, his cheek against her bicep.

“You’re disowned,” Shuri told T’Challa. “I have found the new Black Panther.”

oOo

Curling up on one of the bar seats, Stephen peeked up and over the counter to watch Steve Rogers. Knives were laid out, a glass siphon pulled out from one of the many cabinets, and the headless portion of a sea bream was slapped down on the counter.

“Clint told me how you scared him this morning,” Steve said, pulling out the spine with careful hands to be sure no small bones were left behind. Picking up one of the knives, he sliced off the skin, making a fillet that was diced, chopped, and smoothed until it was nothing more than a meaty paste.

Stephen’s tail flicked and he leaned forward, sniffing at the board until a gentle hand pushed him back.

 “So,” Steve said, “rather than having you give someone a heart attack, I’m going to make you lunch and there won’t be any need for scaring the pants off any Avengers. Deal?”

Settling back in the seat, Stephen rumbled his agreement.

A knife scooped up the fish and put it in a small dish. Humming under his breath, Steve wiped down the cutting board and flipped it over. It took him only a moment to dig out a chicken breast from the fridge and turn it into the same hand ground meat paste.

Stephen fell asleep to the sound of the knives, boiling water, and gentle hiss of steam.

oOo

“Hey,” Steve said, his hand tickling along the long, black tail. “Wake up, Abra.”

Stephen yawned, lifting his head as fingers scratched under his chin. A small, purring chirrup rose through his throat when he saw the black placemat creating a wall between him and the counter. The smell behind it, however, was a different story. He batted at it, sticking his nose under the gap his paw made.

Steve laughed. “Alright!” he said, “okay!” And lifted it away, revealing the chunk of shashimi tuna over the cooked ball of sea bream and chicken. There was a bowl of what looked to be the same canned stuff Clint had dug out for him that morning, but Stephen grabbed the sushi with his paw, pulled it across the small, dark plate, and decided that Steve was his favourite Avenger.

oOo

Scott Lang stared down at Stephen.

Stephen stared up at Scott Lang.

There was a small, long bullet shaped device in a gloved hand with a button at one end. It was currently pointing it between two booted feet.

A tail flicked.

A thumb pressed down.

Stephen pounced on the red dot before it fully formed and slid across the hard wood flooring. He scrambled; all claws and silver and black fur after it, paws just missing the small red light as it darted away.  The tags clinked merrily as he darted about the room, chasing the elusive creature even though he knew he would never catch it.

The laughter that spilled from Scott’s lips made it all worth it.

oOo

Dodging away from the agents that filled the hallway and the Avengers that moved from room to room, Stephen ducked into the lab. The sun was heavy and bloated in the sky, already starting its descent to the afternoon. Tired, full, and just looking for a quiet place, he slipped through the doors and found the nearest chair to curl up in.

A beep grabbed his attention. A whirl of gears.

His ears twitched back and Stephen turned to stare at the robot that had no eyes and yet seemed to watch him anyway. DUM-E was painted on the side and it rolled closer on rubber wheels, inching forward.

Stephen batted at the clasps, a claw catching on the metal and sending rough shivers up his spine. The robot lurched as though it could feel the pain, opening and closing its three fingers. Its next approach was even slower, graspers tilted carefully to the side.

Green eyes watched, not quite sure what, exactly, was happening, but Stephen stayed still. Metal brushed over his head, clumsily clipping his ears. He pulled them back, giving the machine better access until it managed to get the movement down. Four inched from his forehead to neck, pull up, go back, touchdown, repeat. Over and over again.

Stephen curled his tail, laid down, and let the repetitive motions ease him to sleep.

oOo

Tools spilled across the ground and Stephen looked up from the work bench, his tail whipping back and forth as he stared at the identical robot. Or what looked identical except for the fact that U was painted on that one’s side. It beeped sadly at the mess on the floor.

Stephen meowed, jumped up on the table, and knocked a mug to the ground. It shattered on contact, spilling cold coffee in every direction.

Both robots turned to him, their graspers open in an expression of flabbergasted shock. Jumping down from the table, Stephen left the lab with his tail high and straight as a flag pole.

oOo

Vision floated between the lobby and the jet hangar and looked down at the cat that glanced at his hovering feet. “Hello,” he said, landing softy on the floor. He didn’t reach for black fur, not like everyone else, and Stephen made a soft half purr half meow sound that bubbled between them. “I was not aware that the Avengers—” he paused. “ _We_ had gotten a cat.” Light was shifting through the windows, highlighting the dark, red cape and the plum purple of his skin.

Padding forward, Stephen sniffed at human shaped legs only to find fabric and the faint smell of metal. He pressed his forehead against the artificial bone and purred anyway.

Tentative fingers touched his neck, his collar, and the bony rise of his shoulders. They flattened after a moment and a palm stroked over his spine. It wasn’t as awkward as the other two robots, but Vision clearly had no idea how to pet a cat.

Stephen arched up to his hand, encouraging a stronger touch. He rubbed his mouth against the fingers, flicked his tail, and kept up the purring until Vision slowly pulled away.

“Interesting,” the artificial intelligence murmured and turned to move away.

Meowing, Stephen trotted after.

“What? No,” Vision looked around the hallway. There was no one but him and Stephen. “No, I’m sure there are others who would be very welcoming of your time.”

Stephen meowed again.

“I’m not quite—”

There was a louder, more insistent meow. A black tail flicked. Stephen would have grinned if he had the mouth for it.

Vision dropped through the floor.

Sitting on his haunches, Stephen waited for the AI to return—he didn’t—before flopping on his side and revealing his stomach to the sunlight.

oOo

“ _Ohmygoditsacat_ —”

Stephen felt a breeze whisk over his ears and rolled over to look up at Peter Parker. The teenager was in his Spider-Man suit, mask hanging limply in one hand. He wrestled with the fabric, pulled one arm out of a sleeve so he looked like some awkward Greek trapped in a onesie toga, and combed his fingers through the fur.

“Look at _you_ ,” he cooed and almost fell over before deciding to just sit on the floor. “Are you visiting? Are you staying?” Peter played with the tags and grinned at the address. “Don’t tell mister Strange,” leaning forward, he lowered his voice to a whisper, “but I’m going to have to visit his house more often.”

Closing his eyes under the gentle petting, Stephen purred his own approval of that idea. Fingers scratched behind his ears and underneath his collar, played with his tail and gently squeezed the pads of his feet.

“You have the same types of scars,” Peter said, holding a paw up to his face to see the thin, jagged marks on the bottom.

That was news, but Stephen wasn’t surprised. He just laid beneath Peter’s kind touch and let young hands ruffle and smooth down his fur.

“I’m gonna take you with me,” Peter said. “Can I take you with me?”

Stephen didn’t argue as he was lifted and curled up in the boy’s arms. His tail was draped lazily across a forearms and he pressed his nose into the crease of an elbow.

oOo

“What do you have there, Peter Parker?” Thor’s voice echoed through the compound, easily waking Stephen up from his little bubble of comfort in Peter’s arms.

The teenager grinned. “He’s a cat!”

Stephen lifted his head. His tail coiled over the arms that held him and he leaned out to sniff Thor’s beard. He smelled like fresh rain, ozone, and the faint musk of beer.

“Yes, yes,” one of Thor’s massive hands easily dwarfed the long, lithe body. “My friend Freyja once had a chariot pulled by cats—but they were much larger than this one.” There was wistfulness in the man’s tone, a sort of sad remembrance, but his touch was warm.

Stephen melted into happy purring pudding and didn’t fight the sudden transferring of arms. His claws came out on accident, catching on the t-shirt.

Thor merely laughed and the sound rumbled through his chest like a midsummer storm. Gentle hands guided paws up and up until Stephen curled along a broad shoulder. The Asgardian was massive, leaving even the long, feline body enough room to be draped over skin.

Whiskers tickled the beard, making Thor laugh as a small, black nose sniffed along his scruff. Fingers gently tugged on the tail and Stephen meowed in an ear as a response.

“Oh, yes,” Thor’s eyes glimmered as he grinned. “Freyja would have _loved_ you.”

oOo

Tony looked up from the tools, dried coffee, and bits of mug spread out in his lab as Peter and Thor entered. His hands were on his hips, lips pursed, but the annoyed expression was wiped away when he saw the cat. “Right,” he said. “I was going to call Stephen.”

“Right now?” Peter looked between the cat and Tony. “He hasn’t done anything—”

DUM-E beeped accusingly, pointing at wide, innocent green eyes.

Stephen rubbed his cheek into Thor’s shoulder and mewled a soft little sound that had Peter cooing and petting his tail.

Dragging his hands down his face, Tony groaned. “Alright,” he said. “Alright, okay, _but_ —” he picked a wrench off one of the tables and pointed it at them. “He’s going home by the end of the day, _deal_?”

“Deal!”

oOo

Peter laid his homework around the table and Stephen sat by, watching him work. His eyes were focused on the pink of the pencil, flicking back and forth with the rhythm of the writing. Textbooks sat open, notebooks stacked, and a laptop played some orchestra music.

Around them, the kitchen ebbed and flowed with a tide of people—some gave Stephen a few friendly pets, others a scratch under the chin.

Bruce Banner paused by the table, looking over Peter (not an unfamiliar sight) and the cat that sat beside him. “Is, uh,” he looked between the two. “Is this your cat?”

“Huh?” Tearing his eyes away from calculus, Peter looked up. “What?”

“The cat.”

Stephen meowed and flicked his tail.

Grinning, Peter leaned over and ran his fingers through the fur. He got a deep, rumbling purr in response. “His name’s Abra.”

Bruce paused as green eyes focused on him. “Is he yours?”

“What?” Peter shook his head. “No, no; he’s Strange’s.”

“That explains a lot.”

oOo

“I don’t like cats,” Sam Wilson said, huffing as Steve passed him the bowl of pasta around a currently distracted Scott Lang. “I’m more of a bird person.”

But he snuck bits of sausage to Stephen under the table and no one mentioned the suspicious _muurp’s_ , _mrrow’s_ , and _mmrr’_ s.

oOo

“Alright,” Tony said once the food had been eaten and the dishes had been cleaned. He had his phone in one hand, finger on the dial button. “Everyone say goodbye to the cat.”

Shuri pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Bye T’Challa,” she said before turning to her brother. “Come on, Human T’Challa.”

Little paw squeezes came from Peter, a gentle tug of the tail from Thor. Steve’s fingers scratched under his chin and Bucky rubbed the strong muscles behind his ears. A hesitant pat came from Vision and Stephen rewarded him with a pleased little meow that made the android smile.

“See ya,” Scott jingled the tags and laughed when soft paws batted at his fingers.

Stephen’s ears flicked and he looked over at Tony who was currently talking on the phone. Getting to his feet, he braced himself on the couch, measured the distance, flicked his tail, and leaped.

“—no, his cat’s here— _holy shit!_ ”

Paws hit a shoulder, claws managed to grip onto a t-shirt, and Stephen clambered the rest of his way to Tony’s shoulder. He yowled into the phone.

Wong’s sigh was full of static and broken over the speaker. _“I’ll be right there,”_ he said and hadn’t even hung up before golden sparks grew in the living room.

Stephen rubbed his cheek against brown, ruffled hair, purring loudly as a hand waved frantically around his body—not quite touching in fear of knocking the furry parrot off.

“Okay!” Tony cried as a sorcerer stepped into the Avenger’s compound. “Alright! I get it!” But he was laughing.

Hands pulled Stephen away and he murrp from under Wong’s arm, his tail curling and paws kneading the air. “You’re in big trouble,” the short man said, but his eyes were shining. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”

“He was good company!” Peter called from behind the couch, “really, Mister Wong—it was no trouble.”

“Was he?” Wong said, one eyebrow rising on his forehead as he looked down at the feline hanging from his arm. “That’s a surprise.”

Stephen’s meow was full of affront.

There was a spattered collection of laughs, chuckles, and giggles from the gathered Avengers.

“Thank you for looking after him,” Wong bowed his head. “I can assure you; it won’t happen again.”

“No, no,” Steve said, “Please; it _was_ a pleasure having him around. He’s welcome to come back.”

Green eyes looked up at Wong, wide and pleading.

“I’ll think about it,” the librarian told the cat, bowed once again, and stepped back through the portal. Once it was closed, he placed Stephen on the floor of the foyer, crossed his arms, and waited. There were no emotions on his face, no sign of his ire or his amusement.

The transformation back was swift and left a human half crouched on the floor. “Wong—” Stephen tried and was pulled into a rough hug.

“You’re an idiot,” Wong said.

“Um,” wrapping his arms around the shorter man, Stephen grinned sheepishly. “Does this mean I’m not in trouble?”

Wong laughed as he leaned back. He patted one, bony shoulder and his grin was broad. “Oh,” he said, “you’re in _so_ much trouble.”

Well. Shit.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
